


Sink Into Your Heart

by WednesdaysDaughter



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canonical Character Death, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Magic, Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdaysDaughter/pseuds/WednesdaysDaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one dared to inquire about the validity of the wild notions the Sackville-Baggins hissed underneath their breaths in regards to the abnormal connection between Bungo and Belladonna Baggins. It wasn't right to speak ill of the dead, least they come back to spoil your gardens. No matter what was said and done at the end of the day, Bilbo’s parents had been respected by many and many were willing to let their suspicions rest.</p><p>Until Bilbo Baggins ran out his door for an adventure, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sink Into Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I have always been fascinated with fics where through magic/belief/other people are able to gift their beloved with their hearts. So after a bad day, I decided to tackle this as best as I could. I'm quite pleased with the end result, hopefully you are as well. The song "Valium" by Lisa Mitchell was played constantly while I wrote this, which helped me a lot actually.

There was a story that crossed the barriers of all races in Middle-Earth, a story that faded into a fairy tale told to little ones before the night could claim their minds as her own.

Few believed in the ludicrous tale, choosing to ignore the violent tug in their chest when suddenly faced with an imaginary friend that stepped from dreams into reality.

“It’s not natural; the very idea of it makes me sick!”

Bungo Baggins had to hold his wife back from snatching the hair from Lobelia’s empty head and he ushered her inside Bag End with soft words and gentle nudges ‘til Belladonna relented. Her emerald skirts whispered against the wooden floor laid with determination and love.

“Pay her no mind my dearest, she is bitter with jealousy,” Bungo hushed before brushing a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

Belladonna felt her anger drain out of her spine and she laid a tender hand on Bungo’s chest.

“I guess we can’t all be so lucky in this,” she murmured to herself.

What she called luck, other hobbits called misfortune for not long after Bungo Baggins passed into the hills of the Green Lady, Belladonna was pulled swiftly from the world to follow his path; their son left alone in an empty home where the floors were cold and retained no heat.

Whispers spread of the unnaturalness of Bag End, how it seemed to wilt like a flower that hadn't been watered in weeks. It was months before Bilbo’s cousins could feel relaxed around his kitchen table, the sun filtering in through the windows and the spring breeze bringing forth life into the smial. Hobbits from all families watched Bilbo Baggins carefully, looking for the same oddness present in his mother. They found nothing but grief and eventual acceptance which made him quite popular among the younger lads and lasses who spoke of Bilbo’s strength and respectability in the face of such peculiar gossip.  

No one dared to inquire about the validity of the wild notions the Sackville-Baggins hissed underneath their breaths in regards to the abnormal connection between Bungo and Belladonna Baggins. It wasn't right to speak ill of the dead, least they come back to spoil your gardens. No matter what was said and done at the end of the day, Bilbo’s parents had been respected by many and many were willing to let their suspicions rest.

Until Bilbo Baggins ran out his door for an adventure, that is.

Thirteen months and one botched property sale later, the inhabitants of the Shire knew without a doubt that the Bilbo Baggins who left was not the same Bilbo Baggins who returned.

“Seems there was more Belladonna in him than we thought,” Primula mourned and did her best to keep busybodies away from her cousin as long as she could.

Wounds like his needed time to heal.

\- - - - - - - - - -

It took very little effort on Bilbo’s part to reach into his chest and pluck his heart from behind his rib cage.

He’d grown up on the stories his mother told him, of a love so vast and so true that one could gift their beloved with their very heart.

“But won’t you die if you take it out?” Bilbo asked horrified, covering his chest with his blanket and scooting away from where Belladonna was perched on the edge of his bed.

Her laughter was clearer than a bell’s.

“No my darling boy, that would rather defeat the purpose don’t you think?”

Bilbo could still recall the confusion that kept him preoccupied for years after that night, confusion that faded into fear when his parents died and then melted into acceptance when he met a king. Had he been in the right state when they first met, Bilbo had no doubt he would have given Thorin Oakenshield his heart the moment those blue eyes met his.

Throughout his journey to Erebor, Bilbo had fought with the pain in his chest, choosing to seek out friendship instead of the all-consuming affection that caused his singed feet to race down the brittle wood of a fallen tree and into death’s reach. When Thorin’s arms had enclosed around him, Bilbo feared his heart would simply sink into Thorin’s chest and for a moment he feared it had when Thorin stiffened for a half-second, but then he relaxed and released Bilbo with a light in his eyes Bilbo had never noticed before.

Perhaps, Thorin had felt it too; the stirring in his chest that screamed to be removed with careful hands and placed into the care of someone who would treasure such a gift more than the very blood in his body.

Bilbo was careful around Thorin after that, but he could not deny the joy in his soul as Thorin sought his company more.

It was the deaths of his parents that kept Bilbo cautious and unwilling. He reminded himself every night of the condition of his parents hearts, which had been hidden underneath the floorboards of Bag End and how ghastly, pale and pathetic they were without their guardian nearby. It took all Bilbo had to remove them from their hiding spot and bury them in the backyard amongst the forget-me-nots and roses that bloomed more brilliantly after the hearts of his parents were sowed beneath their roots.

Bilbo forced Bag End into a friendly, homely, environment once more with his blood, sweat, and tears so that it would never again depend on the heart of another to keep it alive.

As he gazed upon Erebor, Bilbo had wondered what kind of heart it would take to keep its halls warm and inviting or if even such a thing was possible.

Bilbo hadn’t stuck around to find out, choosing to leave the mountain as Thorin lie dying in a tent, a gift wrapped tightly and placed on his frail chest without so much as a note. It seemed as if his mother’s recklessness lived on in him; a fact that caused him constant amusement and heartbreak on his journey back to the Shire.

\- - - - - - - - - -

The knock on the door came as Bilbo was settling down for supper.

The déjà vu was so strong it nearly stole his breath from his body and Bilbo contemplated running to his bedroom and locking himself away until whoever it was at the door gave up.

Dwarves rarely – if ever – gave up, something he’d quite forgotten in his year away from Erebor.

The knocking grew louder and Bilbo feared for his door.

“Oh all right, I’m coming. I’ll thank you not to knock down my door.”

He spared a mournful glace at his plate of mashed potatoes and salmon before marching towards the door, bracing himself for whatever lay beyond it. A strange fluttering in his chest made Bilbo pause, his hand reaching up in reflex to quiet the stirring he had not felt in ages. With a lump in his throat, Bilbo slowly opened his door and nearly fainted at the sight that greeted him.

“I should never have doubted the words of my grandmother when she told me the story, but imagine my surprise when I came back to the world of the living to find a heart, not my own, resting upon my bandaged breast.”

Bilbo was backed into his own home and Thorin shut the door behind him with his foot, hands too full of a small wooden chest to be of much use.

The walls of Bag End seemed to hold their breath in anticipation and the tremors racing though Bilbo’s body made him wonder if it was really his nerves or the floor beneath him vibrating with excitement and remembrance. The sweet smell of forget-me-nots and roses wafted in through the windows and Bilbo could picture his parents holding hands and peeking in around the corner to see what would happen next.

“Imagine if you will my utter despair when Balin told me you had fled the mountain and made no mention of returning.”

The deep timber of Thorin’s voice made it hard for Bilbo to swallow. His chest seemed to be caving in on itself, lungs compressed until Bilbo could barely breathe. How he did not lose consciousness when Thorin lifted the lid of the chest in his arms would be a mystery never solved, for sitting on a blue velvet cushion was not one heart, but rather two.

“I would ask this of you, to take what has rightfully been yours since I first saw your face. I would ask that you protect it as I have yours, the most precious gift I have ever received in this life and the next.”

Bilbo didn’t notice he was crying until Thorin reached out to wipe away the warm trail down his face.

The emptiness he’d grown so used to was gone as if he’d never had it in the first place, as if his heart had never left the safety of his chest. Flushed with health, it was obvious Thorin had dedicated himself to seeing Bilbo’s heart wanted for nothing. With quivering hands, Bilbo took Thorin’s heart and held it close to his chest in hopes of warming it.

He cooed, feeling the way it fluttered in his hands like a little bird; so powerful yet so weak outside of the body.

Tension that had built up in Thorin’s bones melted away with every soft word Bilbo spoke to his pale heart. With faint scars and a crooked beat, Thorin’s heart flourished in Bilbo’s hands until Thorin could not stop himself.

 When Thorin touched Bilbo’s heart, cupped it like a rare and precious jewel, Bilbo shuddered. He swayed a little, enough to rest his forehead on Thorin’s shoulder and just breathe. This is what Bilbo saw on his mother’s face whenever his father played with the curls around her face. There wasn’t a word for the peace that had settled into his body, filling his lungs with fresh air for the first time in years. The hearts synced their beating and Bilbo knew with utter surety that he was blessed, as his parents had been, and that no matter how long or short a life he had, it would bloom and grow into the greatest story ever told.

\- - - - - - - - - -

_And so, when two halves meet, whatever their race or gender, something magical happens: the two are bound in love, bound by a sense of belonging to none but each other, and by a desire so powerful it eclipses all else in the world, and they would not be willingly parted for anything._

_And from that moment a possibility is born, brought forth by the hearts and minds of the creators who valued their children’s love above all and their children’s happiness at finding their half; the possibility of giving ones heart, one’s soul, as a tangible gift to be treasured above all things._

_Transcending death itself, those matched will travel the beyond together, tangled and intertwined tighter than the oldest roots; unable to be torn asunder by even the darkest of foes in both lives mortal and immortal._

**Author's Note:**

> The first paragraph of the italicized section is a bastardized quotes from Plato's "The Symposium" which I felt matched up quite nicely with the overall theme of the fic. 
> 
> I'm not going to lie, today has been a bad day. A really bad kind of day that I haven't had in months and I don't really feel like I'm going to be okay any time soon. That being said, I hope all who are reading this are having a good day and I hope you feel loved and I hope my writing is able to help you escape if things are not going well, just like it helps me.
> 
> My best,   
> Libby


End file.
